The things a man does for love
by Floopygirl
Summary: It was the night every man dreaded, knowing it spelt the beginning of the end. Not white cotton! JS badfic.


Title: The things a man does for love  
Rating: 16+  
Pairing: S/J  
Spoilers: none  
Disclaimer: not mine

A/N: More badfic, I'm afraid - but at least it's not angsty. Just be glad I took the plunger puns out :)

It was the night every man dreaded, knowing it spelt the beginning of the end.

Jack looked up in shock from the shirt he was unbuttoning. Sam stared at him.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked, concern shining in her blue eyes.

He didn't know how to say it without sounding like a bastard. Then again, maybe there was no way.

"Your bra," he stuttered, stopping to take a deep breath. Then he decided to give up on being sensitive, and let the words flood out in a rush of confusion. "You'vestoppedwearinglaceandarewearingwhitecotton."

"What?" Her nose wrinkled up in that cute way he normally found totally hot, but he was so disturbed by the sight in front of him that his body refused to react. "Could you say that slower?"

He didn't answer but instead dived for her jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them down over her hips, hardly taking in her squeal of excitement. White cotton, check. He was so screwed. Before he knew it, it would be 'Honey, I have a headache', and then they'd be sleeping in separate beds. Welcome to a world of blue balls and discussions about gas bills and peanut butter.

"They're white cotton," he repeated, hardly able to keep the tears from his throat. Slowly he let go of her and sank down onto the bed, trying to take in what he'd just discovered.

"So?" she demanded, hands on hips – which looked kinda ridiculous, because her pants were still bunched around her knees. "What's wrong with white cotton?"

"I like your other underwear," he muttered.

"Jack!" She really wasn't happy. "Do you have any idea how annoying that stuff is to hand wash?"

No, not really. "It's sexier."

"White cotton is sexy." He gave her a skeptical look. "It is!" She frowned, and finished removing her shirt and pants, standing in those... those _things_ in front of him. "It..." she was obviously struggling, "It goes see-through when it's wet!"

Now that was interesting. "Feel like taking a shower?" he leered at her.

She shook her head. "That would be a bit ridiculous – besides, it would ruin my hair."

Considering her hair was barely a couple of inches long – but he wasn't going to make the mistake of trying to apply logic to the situation. "So what do you want me to do?"

Her brow creased again, as she thought, and suddenly cleared – eureka!

"There's a squeezy bottle with a spray top I used for watering my plants – you should be able to find it under the sink." She looked at him pointedly, obviously wanting him to get moving.

This was surreal. "You're sure you don't just want to get under the hose?"

"Jack!" she squealed. Apparently not. Fine.

He trudged down the stairs, feeling totally unconvinced. Sure, transparent clinging material was hot – certain parts of his anatomy definitely agreed with him – but this was just weird. He found the bottle where she'd said it would be – one advantage to having a girlfriend was that she could find everything in your house even if you couldn't – and filled it from the tap, then carrying it gingerly back upstairs.

He found her standing in the middle of the room, standing impatiently. "Well?"

He looked at her doubtfully. "Er, do you want to stand on a towel or anything?"

"Jack O'Neill, do you have no sense of romance?"

Apparently not. He pointed the instrument towards her, put his finger on the trigger and squeezed.

She screamed. "For crying out loud, it's cold!"

He could see that – there was definite pebbling happening under that bra – but he hadn't sprayed enough water to achieve the transparent effect he'd hoped for. "I..."

"Jack!" She pointed at the door. "Warm water, now!"

He scurried out of the room to the bathroom, and made sure the tap was running warm for at least a minute before he dared fill the bottle up again. Then he returned, to see her shivering with her arms crossed over her chest. Damn.

"Can we get on with this?" He didn't want to point out that it was all her idea. He sprayed at her chest, cautiously, and heard her sigh. "Oh, that feels so good." The sound she made was an incredible turn-on and then he was spraying for dear life, listening to her soft moans and getting harder and harder. Finally he realised that the bottle was empty and he threw it aside, grabbing her slick body while trying to remove his pants as quickly as he could.

"Jack, take them off, take them off." He didn't know whether she was talking about his clothes or hers, but he ripped it all off to be sure, and thrust inside her in one mighty move. She whimpered, and he kept moving inside her.

Afterwards he lay beside her on their bed, trying to ignore the ick factor of wet sheets. "So," she mumbled, "What do you think about my underwear now?"

He thought for a minute, smugly remembering how she'd looked with water dripping down her body and rosy peaks pressing against the clinging fabric of her bra.

"I think," he rolled over suddenly, pinning her under him, "That next time..."

"Yes..." she breathed, eyes fixed on his face.

"Next time, you shouldn't wear any underwear at all."

Considering how wet the bed was, it wasn't any real hardship to spend the night on the couch.


End file.
